


Dangerous Things

by bgoodg



Category: Bourne Trilogy (Movies), James Bond (Movies)
Genre: Crossover, Crossover Pairing, Gun Kink, Gunplay, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-01
Updated: 2011-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-14 07:57:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/147083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bgoodg/pseuds/bgoodg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These are men, who know how to handle their guns.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dangerous Things

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of fiction and not written for profit. The characters mentioned belong to their respective creators and owners. No defamation is implied.

“Fuck yes.” Bond tears at the restraints at his wrists and ankles. But the silk ties hold strong and his struggle only amuses his companion.

Jason continues slowly peeling off his clothes. Bond is already naked, his muscles brilliant against the dark blue Egyptian cotton sheets. The hotel is upscale with plush bedding, antique light fixtures and receptionists wise enough not to ask about bruises and bloodstains.

Jason slips out of his white shirt, his right shoulder still sore from when it was dislocated. There's a line of blood running from a cut just under his left bicep, slowly trickling down the sharp planes of his body. Absently Jason wipes at the crimson trail, the blood sharp against his white skin. He brings the bloody finger to his lips while his eyes go to the bed and a naked Bond.

The English agent is hard and his breath comes in short gulps. His Caribbean blue eyes are focused on Jason's lips and the hovering bloody finger.

Slowly and deliberately Jason takes his finger and smears the crimson liquid along his full lips. Taking quick steps he goes to Bond and pulls the man into a bruising kiss.

They kiss like they fight: rough, hard and with the need to completely dominate.

Bond's tongue licks off all traces of blood and plunders Jason's mouth with fierce passion.

"More," Bond demands.

For a moment Jason doesn't understand.

But that's nothing new when it comes to the English secret agent. The fact that Bond hadn't killed him at their first meeting still surprised Jason. The two of them tumbling into bed together, well more accurately a wall, had been inevitable but Bond asking to be tied down, to be handcuffed to an overhead pipe or roped to a bed post had caused Jason to pause and ask 'why'.

"More what?" He wants to please Bond.

It's like a drug. Knowing that this dangerous, deadly man trusts Jason enough to put his safety in his unclean hands makes him hard and light headed. It's more powerful than the need to find his past, keeping him with Bond even though the Englishmen is a magnet for worldwide conspiracies and has repeatedly told Jason he works alone.

Bond is wiggling against the bed, his body screaming for sensation but Jason isn't sure what the man wants. Jason goes to strip off his pants, his eyes still locked on Bond's.

It's then that he notices the gun on the table. Bond's Walther P99 standing in sharp contrast to the organic wood grain of the bedside table. Bond had used the gun with quick and accurate efficiency that night, sending more than a few men to meet their maker. It's amazing to Jason that such a compact machine can cause so much damage.

Without thinking and leaving his pants half open, Jason walks around the bed to the nightstand, casually picking up the gun and cradling it in his hand.

Jason's running his fingers along the barrel when he hears it. A feral moan that goes straight to his cock.

Jason turns to see Bond looking at him with hungry, open eyes. Things begin to click into place, the same way it does when he's trying to kill a target or figuring out how he's going to escape. Possibilities and alternatives and worst case scenarios flash through his mind until he settles on the most desirable.

The gun is comfortable and awkward in his hand all at once. He knows this weapon, knows anything that can cause mass damage, but it belongs to Bond, belongs in his skillful hands not Jason's.

Blocking out everything but the bed and Bond and the gun in his hand, Jason slowly slides his tongue from the handle of the gun to the tip of the barrel. It taste of steel and sweat and blood. It tastes like Bond.

"Fuck me, fuck me now," Bond orders, like he isn't the one tied down and weaponless.

Jason smirks and twirls his tongue through the trigger. His pants are still open and his free hand wanders down the flat planes of his stomach to cup his hard cock. He moans around the grip of the gun, suddenly wanting nothing more than Bond's skin against his own. The pants are shed with one hand and quickly forgotten.

Silently Jason moves onto the bed. He straddles Bond's hips, letting the other man's dripping cock slide against his ass. Jason takes the sleek gun and lightly traces it along Bond's stomach. The muscles quiver underneath the sharp steel of the gun.

Jason can't catch his breath when Bond throws his head back and growls. Growls like a fucking caged tiger who wants to be released so that he can tear his captor to pieces.

He drops the weapon on Bond's stomach, the dark frame of the P99 looking completely natural on Bond's sun kissed skin.

Placing his hands on sharp muscle, Jason raises himself above Bond's leaking cock, sliding down in one smooth movement. It burns but Jason is so far gone that any sensation is transmitted as pleasure.

With steady hands Jason picks up the sleek gun. "Open," he demands, resting it along Bond's lips.

A pink tongue sneaks out and welcomes the loaded weapon. Jason plants a hand on a broad shoulder, slowly sliding the P99 in and out of Bond's eager mouth as he moves himself up and down the hard cock inside of him.

Bond's eyes are wide and unseeing, lost in a haze of feeling and delicious sensation.

Jason's rhythm is jerky and uneven. But when Bond opens his mouth, opens it wide enough to take the whole barrel of the gun down his throat, sharp metal slipping between perfect lips, Jason loses it. He comes in harsh pants and muttered curses, shutting his eyes and just feeling.

The gun slips to the white pillow, momentarily forgotten as they both attempt to breathe again.

"You're a dangerous man," Bond finally whispers.

Jason has no rebuttal, because he knows it’s true. But so is Bond and that’s what binds them together.


End file.
